


Guardian

by lunare (soleils)



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, F/F, Guardian Angels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-07 18:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19474879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soleils/pseuds/lunare
Summary: How does a guardian angel earn its wings?(In which the kingdom of heaven is not what it seems.)





	1. ascension

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer/Warnings: This fic is based heavily on monotheistic religions, specifically Christianity. There are heavy religious undertones and themes such as betrayal, self-deprecation and general resentment toward religion.**  
>   
>  **There will also be additional warnings before the chapters that have light graphic/violent content.**  
>   
>  **If you don’t feel comfortable reading about a character and story with these traits, this fic may not be for you.**  
>   
>  That being said, thank you so much for clicking on this! 
> 
> I’ve had this monster planned since summer 2017 and from early outlining to the last days of finishing up, it’s been a really important project to me. It brought a lot of firsts, like finally writing for RV, writing angst, fantasy, and something so lengthy!
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> P.S. Here’s something to listen to as you dive into the world of Guardian.  
> [Freudian — Daniel Caesar](https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/freudian/1265893523)
> 
> -y ♡

It had been a week since Seulgi died.

But today she earned her wings. 

She made it to heaven. Which she had spent most of her corporeal life worrying about, only for it to be nothing like the perfection the bible depicted, or the movies, or how any earthly form had described it to be. There was no one at the gates waiting for her. There were no structures plated with gold opening to a radiant paradise, no angel guiding her as she rode luminous staircases into a resplendent kingdom of light, and most disappointing of all, she didn’t see Odd—her departed cat—anywhere.

But she had wings. Beautiful, vast, wings a lustrous white purer than she had ever seen on earth. They had sprouted the moment she touched the gate.

The gate itself was massive, incomprehensibly so. It shot up from the impossibly solid misty matter she was standing on barefoot, and when she tilted a glazed gaze upwards to see its end, there was none in sight. It must have gone on forever, upwards to the highest celestial ceiling, with signs of wear included. There were scuffs on its exterior, several terrifying claw marks with some bunched together and others far apart. It must have been beautiful on the day of its creation, gleaming black marble, polished and wondrous. But the day Seulgi witnessed the gate it had already seen a thousand epochs, gleam long gone from its façade, marble eroded to the point of being mistaken for a lowly material like unfinished concrete, and lacerations chronicling the times its defensive properties had come to be implemented. It seemed more like a wall to keep her out, than to let her in.

What she had childishly expected, was for some omnipotent voice to guide her, telling her how to gain access, how to take her place among Odd and her grandmother—the only family to precede her. But instead, all that ran through her was primitive instinct.

Her gut was telling her to touch the gate.

Before she did, she made sure to check that she still could. Because she could feel hands and feet, flesh and bones, but she hadn’t even had time to look at her own body—if time even existed beyond the gate. Assuredly enough, she let out a quiet sigh of relief when she looked down and stretched toes into the mist, curiosity getting the best of her as she dropped down to dig both hands into whatever the ground was composed of. It felt like the softest cashmere, but was wondrously dynamic. It was solid, but also sublimating around the limbs she had plunged into the floor. If there was anything on earth she could compare heaven’s foundation to, it was sand on a beach. Sand milled so finely that it felt like gossamer, with supple swirls that you could sink into, and a solid base. A moment after the wonder of the floor faded, she became aware of a full-length dress stretching over her bent knees, a pale blushed satin slightly ebbing around her, flowing with the churning mist.

She wasn’t wearing the dress she had died in. 

Startled by the sudden realization, she pushed herself up from the ground to check for any other physical inconsistencies. She ran slender fingers across now blemish-free skin, feeling plump lips supernaturally tinted rose, hair softer and fuller than money could have bought on earth, to finally sliding them off sheen fabric. She had never felt more supple, beautiful, and alive than she did standing before the wall. The satin was draped over one shoulder, reminiscent of a new silhouette crafted by a Milanese fashion house. She smiled to herself, holy but tasteful, a small reassurance to the unsettling strangeness of what she vaguely knew as heaven in front, above and around her. But everything was calm. Even if her senses screamed uncertainty and hesitation with her gut pushing her forward, the setting was anything but chaotic.

It was just her and the wall-gate, surrounded by a misty base and a warm atmosphere awash in diffused light seemingly without a source. And in that moment, it was all far more comforting than any earthly desire ever could have been. There was no doubt. There was no sky, land, or sea. This room—a term she used for lack of better understanding—was limitless. 

She was standing on the edge of eternity. 

The reaction that occurred when her fingertips pressed into the scorching dark alabaster was nowhere near the chemical kind she so readily had studied on earth. It was as if her cells had an organic reaction to the ancient stone, waiting for the very moment she would touch it. Accelerated growth of hollow bones that sprouted from between her shoulder blades, feathers developed as fast as the beat of a hummingbird’s heart, all in one painless blink of a human eye. The only sensory indication of any type of growth was an audible series of short snaps as her new organs settled into place—if they could even be called that. They were immense, surprisingly dexterous, and easy to control, as she immediately stretched them without a second thought. Her wingspan was roughly twice her height.

They were glorious.

Everything she had ever been taught, from a scientific perspective, told her she shouldn’t have been able to fly. And yet, she had no doubt in her mind that she could. But before the reckless thought of surging upward completely crystallized, the gate had sensed she had reached a form worthy enough to enter.

A thin vertical crevice first appeared where her index finger was still placed, and it lengthened quickly, splitting the wall in half. She staggered back, reflexively removing her hand from its side, not knowing what she might see when they opened—or who.

The gate opened slowly, groaning and rumbling in complaint. It must have been some time since the gate she faced last opened. Which seemed odd, considering hundreds of thousands died each day, and that’s not even counting animals. But the thick and opaque multitude of foggy fingers grasping, _pulling_ the gate open distracted her unpleasant thoughts on mortality. 

It was one of the most impatient moments of her (now celestial) life. The fog wasn’t allowing her any clear view of what lay beyond. But amidst the churning chaos between the still opening gate, a shadow, much like hers—wings included—appeared. Her body reacted immediately, starting forward even when her human senses were shrieking stop. 

The one thing that halted her walk into the unknown fog that was supposedly heaven, was the sudden sound of flapping wings. The shadow she was watching was airborne. The fog reached her, blinding her with wave after wave of grey. Seulgi squeezed her eyes shut. They were useless to her in the moment either way, until it started to thin; the flapping subsided, and powerful gusts became soft breezes once more.

Seulgi opened her eyes. The only thing different in front of her was a ball of shining, pale yellow light, the silhouette she had seen, and the wings heard seconds ago, nowhere in sight. Even with the gates open, the other side was almost exactly like the one she was on. Except the atmosphere was somehow…lighter. It literally looked as if the air on the other side wasn’t as dense, as if what the residents of heaven survived on wasn’t oxygen, but helium or some lighter gas. Not that she could truly tell visually, but she did feel a shift.

The ball of light in front of her started to close the gap between them. The closer it came, the more human it turned. Shapeshifting, that instead of being grotesque, was as graceful and clean as a prima donna gliding across a stage.

The wings came first. Then ribbons of light solidifying into a dress the same glossy satin as hers, except it was an even paler pink, almost a creamy white, and finally the light flickered and faded into one of the most beautiful beings Seulgi had ever seen. She stood a few centimeters shorter, with waist-length raven hair, burnt umber eyes and a flawless complexion that seemed to literally glow from a fire within.

The being now an arms width from Seulgi stuck out a manicured hand, pointing an onyx-tipped index finger at her nose, scanning her up and down and then lastly, as an afterthought, glancing at her wings. 

With a voice as clear and warm as coastal waters, but a strikingly contradictory tone of disappointment, the angel before her directed one question upward:

“ _This_ is the new recruit?"


	2. eternity's crossing

Seven days. Seven days of nothing. Complete and total desolation, a sea of black, a dreamless oblivion, unaware her judgement was being deliberated in the unseen cosmos. And when her ascension was finalized, worthy judgement dealt by divine hands, her soul was torn away from her physical body, with the divine careful to not leave a sliver behind.

Or at least, that’s what the angel she would come to know as Irene, told her, after scoffing at the silence the question that had just been asked, received as an answer.

“Ugh.” The angel in front of her rolled sparkling eyes before lowering the finger pointed at Seulgi. “Don’t look _so_ terrified. This isn’t purgatory, honey. _Trust me._ What’s your name?”

There were a million questions pushing against Seulgi’s lips, waiting to burst. She needed to know the how and most importantly, _why_. Why her to be an angel?

But she was so overwhelmed by the sudden question directed at her coming from the shapeshifting being, and the gate opening, that she couldn’t even vocalize her own name. The syllables stuck in her throat, much to the other being’s annoyance.

“This is _great_ ! I guess everyone decided to be mute today.” The angel sarcastically quipped, starting to pace around Seulgi, looking at her as if she was a specimen under a microscope. “Let’s try again. Shall we? I’m Irene, this is heaven, you’re an angel, I’m an even _better_ angel, and no you aren’t dreaming. You’re dead. You’ve been dead for seven earth days—if you want to get technical. Which you _look_ like you do.”

Irene rattled off those points mechanically, before stopping in front of Seulgi once again, locking intimidating obsidian eyes upon her.

“So, your name?”

It had only been a few silent moments, but Irene’s gaze was so captivating that it had felt like eons. Seulgi could only hope all angels looked that way. And in that moment Seulgi decided that time in the heavenly realm didn’t just flow forward, in a straight vector rigidly pointing ahead, but now, it was malleable and stretchy like putty in deft hands.

She blinked. If she wanted answers to her questions, it only seemed logical she had to start answering some herself.

“Seulgi. I’m Kang Seulgi.” She said as she offered a hand for a cordial handshake.

“Hm.” The gesture wasn’t returned as the other angel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s cute. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to keep it.” Irene crossed her arms, her face darkening as if an unpleasant memory had bubbled to the surface. But the reaction was gone just as quickly as it had come.

A cryptic answer was just another question for Seulgi to ask.

Breaking eye contact, she looked past Irene to the emptiness on the other side. Was the gate waiting for them? They hadn’t moved any closer to it, but the girl between Seulgi and the gate didn’t seem worried.

As if reading right through her, Irene asks, “any questions?”

Finally, a way for her to know. To gain perspective, to form a hypothesis and close the gaps on what she knew about heaven as a human and what she now could begin to know as an angel.

Words no longer hindered, Seulgi starts.

“Wh—”

But she doesn’t get very far.

“Actually,” Irene interrupts, absentmindedly running a hand through her hair before choosing a lock to twirl around an index finger. “You only get to ask me three. I really don’t have all day to babysit you. I have to get you to Michael.”

Michael, the archangel. If Seulgi’s limited knowledge, from the two years of Sunday school her parents forced an impressionable eight-year-old her to attend, served her right.

But only three questions? Her brow furrowed at the limits the other angel had imposed, making it obvious she had better things to do than entertain new recruits. But Seulgi needed any information she could get, being completely unaware of the hierarchy of order that she was now a part of.

Irene wanted her up to speed, and so did she. Seulgi cocked her head to the side as she took a second to prioritize which questions to ask.

“Tell me about angels.”

“Honey, I said questions. That’s a _command_.” Irene responded flatly.

“Irene, _please_ tell me about angels, their hierarchy and where I, the unworthy and clueless, fall into that?’

Irene raises a brow, amused at the fact that the new girl managed to string more than five words together, and sarcastically at that.

“Listen closely, smartass, I don’t like repeating myself.” Irene wags three fingers. “There are three levels and under each level, three classes of angels. The higher the level the closer to God they are, and the more I, and now you, should stay away. But all you really need to worry about are other third levels. _You’re_ the one starting at rock bottom.”

She walks closer to Seulgi, stopping when her lips linger just inches away from the other girl’s ear.

“They’re always watching. Waiting for one slip into temptation. Don’t ever forget that.”

With the warning left resonating, she backs away once again, resuming the twirling of an already curled lock.

She held up three fingers with her free hand before bringing down the third.

“Two left” she said, like a genie waiting for their new master to free them from their temporary contract.

“How do they choose angels?”

“ _Choose_? Ha, only the almighty knows that.” She laughs bitterly, waving the question off with her hand. “You’re back to being boring.”

“I can’t help it. Not everyone can be an Irene.” Seulgi remarked, noticing how her feathers had ruffled from the tension that was coiling ever so slowly.

Irene may be one of the most inconsiderate beings she’d had the pleasure of meeting, and it was just the beginning. But she still had a question left, and it was the most important one of them all.

“Have you seen God?”

“Yeah, once. It’s an anticlimactic as you’d expect.” Seulgi waits for more, but Irene doesn’t elaborate, bitterness still laced between what she had just revealed. “Alright, wishes granted. Now let’s go, I don’t want to be here when the next guy shows up.”

The other angel turns her back to Seulgi, spreading wings more beautiful than her own. With a single powerful flap, she’s already several feet above Seulgi before effortlessly turning to face her again, maintaining her height. She stretched out a perfectly varnished hand toward the new angel, a scene any believer would think reminiscent of Michelangelo’s _The Creation of Adam_ , as Seulgi felt compelled to stretch out her own hand in response. But just as Adam could be interpreted as reluctant to meet the almighty’s touch, Seulgi was reluctant for their fingers to intertwine. Until, Irene made the decision for her. She closed the gap and yanked her upward, causing a new reflex to respond. As soon as Seulgi’s feet no longer felt the security of the floor, her wings stretched, cutting into the hazy atmosphere with short beats to sustain her.

Irene couldn’t help but soften at the sight of the childish grin pushing at cheeks that turned Seulgi’s eyes into upside down crescent moons as she laughed. The pure, innocent wonder of every child of God that was chosen to be an angel, using their wings for the first time, never ceased to soothe the old scars on her soul. She subconsciously squeezed the amazed girl’s hand before the reality of Seulgi going through the process of being turned into another soldier in the army they were forced to be a part of materialized once more, and she untangled their fingers.

She gifted the new girl a few more moments to familiarize herself with new wings before turning to fly toward the open gate, wordlessly expecting to be followed.

Seulgi was enjoying the dizzying fun of twirling in place when she noticed the space in front of her now vacant. Irene was already at the gate.

As soon as the raven-haired angel passed through the marble threshold, she disappeared, creating waves in the atmosphere as if she had dived into an invisible pool. The gate was a portal. And Seulgi had to jump in on blind faith and Irene, alone. The mystical had quite literally met her—the secular—in the middle. Things she once knew to be indisputable truths on earth were now nothing more than just pillars regular man used to sustain their limited knowledge of what was directly in front of them. Her tunnel vision was expanding, and she had been given the choice to spend the rest of eternity rationalizing or believing.

She was an angel now after all. Strength of belief, even if it was in the secular sciences on earth, had gotten her this far. And now she had to literally take a leap of faith into the unknown, into concepts that had no explanation, no justification, no theories to deconstruct and analyze. The same forces that had caused wings to develop and function when they shouldn’t have. The same forces that maintained her in the air, beating wings that shouldn’t be able to support the weight of a human body. The same forces that were beckoning her to disappear into thin air.

There was no time for thought as she propelled herself forward, using her wings as if they were another pair of legs. She had thought there was going to be a learning curve, like a baby learning to crawl or walk, but then again it was only logical for God to want his angels knowing how to fly from the moment their wings manifested. She held her breath, expecting entering the portal-gate to feel exactly as it had looked, rippling with soft waves after Irene’s entrance. She closed her eyes seconds before she passed the marble slabs, waiting for the air to turn wet against her skin and slow her momentum as she crossed over into heaven.

But it never did. Instead she felt a mouthful of velvet feathers as she crashed into a wing that she hoped belonged to Irene. It lashed against her, causing her to fall back and flap her own agitated wings to regain balance, as she opened her eyes to face a human form.

A human form covered in thousands of eyes. Even where a face should’ve been, was covered, and every single pupil focused on the shock written on her face. But the most curious thing about them was that each eye was a different color, and the thin veil of flames burning like a fiery aura. She didn’t remember the pain of heat when she had run into their feathers.

If the being was upset, they didn’t show it, as they only lingered for a second before turning to continue on their way.

“ _Shit_ , don’t look at them. Come on.” Irene hisses behind her, squeezing her arm uncomfortably, forcing her to look away from the bizarre celestial being.

Seulgi reluctantly looks past Irene, expecting to see the gate somewhere in the distance. Instead, it’s open sky all around them, angels flying every which way, throngs going to and from, individuals and pairs disappearing into and appearing from floating marble rings which seemed to be color-coded. They were at some sort of angelic intersection, and it was a jarring contrast to the calm of the gate.

She was quickly learning to undo all stereotypical images of heaven and angels—especially the angels. Hundreds, thousands of angels of every shape and unbelievable form moved through this realm, as unique as snowflakes. She let her eyes jump from angel to angel: some looked looked as human as her, happy and expressive, while others had heavier airs, commanding importance. Everything was an opportunity to understand the absurdity around her and her vision was starting to blur from not blinking.

“Focus new girl, not everyone is as welcoming as I am.” Irene says, tugging her upwards as they fly higher past clusters of rings and angels. “I’m letting go now. Don’t bump into anyone else or I _will_ let them eat you alive.”

Seulgi couldn’t tell if that was a serious threat, but she wasn’t going to risk finding out.

As soon as Irene’s grip is gone, the raven-haired angel propels upward, as the angels around them start to thin the higher they rise. The rings’ colors thinned from several to two: blue and white, until the angel leading her stopped in front of a marble ring with blue veining.

“Well, nice not knowing you!” She says with a smile and a hand tapping fingers against her hip. “And _don’t_ say hi to Michael for me.”

Seulgi hesitates, uneasy eyes watching the marble ring floating unnaturally.

So far heaven was turning out to be a series of blind jumps into the unknown.

“Oh come on.” Irene rolls her eyes. “He has your ward assignment, and is actually obligated to answer your taxing questions so _please_ just go in already.”

If she jumped head first into the void once, she could do it a hundred times over.

Gratitude was due toward her impatient guide, so she turned to give a sincere, but fleeting, “thank you,” catching a glimpse of sadness clouding Irene’s eyes. 

But Seulgi doesn’t give it a second thought, choosing to not prolong what awaited.

Irene stayed until the last feather disappeared into the ring, waiting long after the unlikely recruit had gone. It had been a long time since the Powers had taken such precautions with a new angel—giving them a personal escort through the gate—and the fact that Michael, essentially a direct herald to the throne, had personally chosen _her_ over the more…celebrated guardians weighed heavily on her mind.

She had spent earth years keeping her head down, accepting free will had left long ago with her humanity, all the while keeping secrets of her own. Secrets gave her the feeling of control. This new angel couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ —change that.

“Whatever.” She mutters, shaking her head to drive out the thoughts threatening to pull at empathy she had ceased to pretend she had.

Angels only had phantoms of humanity laced in with memories of a life that could never be lived again.

She descended rapidly, ready to return to the isolation of her quarters, rings and angels blurring past her, as words of a bygone ceremony echoed from her subconscious.

_From now on until eternity._


	3. absolutes

“Welcome, young one.”

Her arrival must have been anticipated, as the greeting came before her feet grazed the milky tile of a grand foyer bathed in natural light.

Light permeated every realm in Heaven.

Seulgi looked back at the marble circle she had just emerged from, a low whoosh coming from its center whirlpool of churning clouds. The ring’s strange practicality intrigued her, and she would’ve loved to stay and study it, if not for the owner of the voice finally revealing themselves.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the figure came into view, walking toward her. Her wings protectively wrapped around her, feathers flat and tight, as eyes colored a burning ember scoured over her form.

Michael. The Archangel, clad in lustrous war plates, over two meters tall with bronze skin that looked searing to the touch. He was a human-shaped flame, the fire of God’s love personified to the point tiny blazes were reflected in his irises.

But his hair was darker than Irene’s, longer. Curls hitting lower than his breastplate, grazing the hilt of a sword.

A divine war-lord that had stopped in front of her, and extended a hand. And all Seulgi could process was that he was nothing like the mass-produced images of him on earth, as she stood wrapped in her feathers, petrified.

The primal response to intimidating— _predatory_ —authority; a fight or flight response she found out even angels kept.

He chuckles, the sound coming deep within his chest, velveteen and low. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

His outstretched hand moved toward her before she could step back. The moment his fingers touched feathers, her wings relaxed. They loosened their protective shell immediately, and the wing he touched wrapped around his wrist, welcoming the caress. Another response Seulgi had no control over.

“See?”

She stared wide-eyed at her wing’s immediate change in temperament from one gentle touch of the archangel. Every time she gained some insight into her surroundings, her new _condition_ , out sprouted a thousand more unknowns.

The large, steady hand caressing her feathers slipped away, taking the warmth with it.

“Come, I was discussing your assignment with the twins before we felt your arrival.”

The twins? This has been the second time a foreign guide assumed she would know exactly who they were speaking of, but this time she couldn’t think of one instance twin angels were mentioned in scripture—no matter how lightly read.

When he turned, Seulgi was pleasantly surprised to see his wings had the same coloring and patterning as a common barn owl. Wings with dull, russet colored feathers a stark contrast to the opulence of his presence, but their size matched the archangel’s eminence—the longest feathers trailing on tile.

She humbly followed him through the predictably all white foyer, past open rooms with scrubbed walls and minimal furniture that seemed more for show than anything else. It was as if they were walking through a life-size modernist doll house designed by Scandinavians with an obsession for white.

Centuries old angels with a taste for contemporary design. Amusing, if not confusing, at the least.

They stopped in the doorway of a room that was an exact copy of the rest, except for the two angels hovering over its washed tiles—twin figures with clipped wings that looked like they belonged to baby cherubs more than their full adult size.

“Seulgi.” They sang in discord, one with strawberry locks while the other’s was colored sand. “Welcome to paradise.”

Paradise. It was hard for her to feel any type of comfort in these apathetic walls, next to an archangel she was sure could condemn her soul and facing a curious pair of twins who’s expressions were as contrasting as their hair: bright and approachable while the other’s was morbid and reserved.

Michael didn’t bother with formal introductions, pulling the twins’ attention away from her to him, speaking in hushed tones on matters of what must’ve been heavenly duty. Seulgi took it upon herself to walk toward the only piece of furniture in the room, a tall central table with a beechwood top and sturdy legs finished eggshell.

Laying atop the rectangular wood was a bright yellow notebook, a carbon copy of the one she used to have on earth. The daffodil shade personally hers, with her initials, small and embossed on the spine.

She reached out, skeptical that it could truly be the same. It was her most prized possession, a personal relic of humanity that had passed.

But Michael had been watching her, eyeing the target of curious hands.

“I’ve made my decision.” His voice fills the room, it’s sudden rise in volume meant to reach Seulgi, causing her to withdraw her arms.

The twins acknowledge her presence once more, the fluttering of two pairs of short wings the only noise after he speaks. They float down to the floor, wrapping their arms around each other, silently waiting for his next decree.

Michael speaks only one name, familiar to all four, “Irene.”

The strawberry-haired twin’s perpetual joyful expression turned to one of apprehension. “Sir, isn’t she—"

“The lucky sinner they plucked from purgatory.”

Seulgi’s ears perked at the sudden outburst from the other twin, feeling as if she’d overheard something she shouldn’t have.

“—a controversial choice?”

Michael waved off both comments, fixing a fiery gaze on Seulgi. She squirmed under the heat his full attention gave, choosing to look at the tile underneath her feet, wondering how it would feel to melt right into it.

“Who better than to educate recruits in the merciful ways of our Lord?” His word was final, the twins falling silent, nodding an understanding at his choice.

Even the grout of the tile she was transfixed on looked perfect, distracting herself with the details of Michael’s strangely humane personal realm. She heard the soft padding of two pairs of bare feet leave the room signifying the twins’ exit, raising her head as soon as the air was quiet again.

A small smile marked Michael’s lips, amused by the bashful young angel. He walked over to where she was rigidly standing in front of the table.

“This notebook,” he grabbed it gently, turning it over in his hands, “is a gift from me, to you.”

“However, it is not the same you once knew. Its pages are blank, free for you to write anything.”

Seulgi’s eyes widened at the gift, her guard fully lowered as he placed the familiar notebook into her outstretched palms.

He continued, his voice filling every corner of her mind, invisible sound waves crashing against her skin, receding to the walls and hitting her over and over again. “Today you begin your first of only two tasks. First, go to Irene and learn from her, become her ward. And then, when the time comes, you’ll no longer need her, and you’ll become a guardian in your own right. But be wary, angels can corrupt as easily, if not more so, than the humanity that was once yours.”

She met his gaze head on, the purpose she’d been chosen for finally clicking into place, realizing she was now part of something much more. The first embers of an eternal flame igniting in her heart, and flickering behind her eyes. She clutched the last physical evidence of who she used to be in her arms, nodding to the archangel before she left wordlessly, back toward the portal.

For the first time since she’d arrived, her mind was still, focused. Purpose coursing through her and strengthening into resolve.

And above all, there was one thing she noted as an unequivocal truth about who she was and where she was.

Humankind’s perception of Heaven and their idols was a far cry to what it truly turned out to be. Humans had warped the celestial with their flawed perspective to the point they unknowingly worshipped mythology; idolatry reflecting what each society deemed beautiful, important, envy-inducing, and all-powerful. Bastardizing the very religion they went through great strains to keep righteous and uncorrupt.

That simple fact reassured her, for who she used to be was never interested in such idolatry, choosing to prioritize absolute truth discovered by research and indisputable secular fact as a way to discover the world around her.

But heaven had its own absolutes that she could see, that she could _feel_ , and in its vast kingdom of clouds, feathers, and beautiful beings, it was getting easier to rely on faith alone, quelling her fear.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading, and I hope you anticipate all that's in store for our girls. ♡


End file.
